


The underwiring

by Parapluiebleu



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst, BAMF Sherlock Holmes, Episode: s02e03 The Reichenbach Fall, Fix-It, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Infiltration, MI6, Mycroft Being a Good Brother, Post-Reichenbach, Pre-Reichenbach, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-08
Updated: 2019-06-21
Packaged: 2020-04-12 16:11:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19135540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Parapluiebleu/pseuds/Parapluiebleu
Summary: Beyond the fancy suits, suitcases and secret codes, infiltration means planning and fake identities and contingency and danger.Being away is freedom and anonymity and loneliness.It's work and it's the world, it's a mission and it's the endless faces of mankind.And coming back is a lot.





	1. Before

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! This is my first fic on here. I wrote it almost in one go, although the ideas had been accumulating for some time.  
> English is not my first language, please point out any mistakes if you have the time!
> 
> Enjoy :)

 

It had been perfect.

For such a delicate situation, moderately dangerous, with thirteen different outcomes and so very public, the plan was perfect.

And it had worked perfectly too.

 

Mycroft had been worried, during the elaborating process. Sherlock's concern for the safety of his friends had been rising steadily, even before Moriarty's verbal confirmation. His patience and concentration had decreased just as steadily. The meetings had been constant exercises in de-escalation, but in the end, the plan was finalized.

And then polished, and then perfected.

 

Sherlock had been surprisingly calm before climbing to the roof. Mycroft is the one who, surprising himself, started to get... tense, when the corpse delivery guy texted that he was stuck in traffic. Luckily, no one saw him tighten his tie twenty times during those 5 minutes of delay, and he addressed the incident with the age-old technique (one of the very few he cared to follow) of "no witness - no incident".

 

The corpse delivery arrived, the ground team got ready and Molly watched it all happen with a mixture of awe, excitation, and the distinct impression that something would go wrong.

Nothing did.

As more and more of the scenarios were eliminated from the set of possible outcomes, Sherlock readied himself. The ground team also got ready to respond to the thirteenth eventuality.

 _(It is now important to mention that the work, that day, of the man affectionately renamed by Molly as The Maestro, who was in charge of all mobile groups outside the hospital, greatly impressed Mycroft. The Maestro got a promotion a few days later, and left both his job and England a year after that, in nebulous circumstances, although there was talk of a woman involved. Nevertheless, he had given an impressive show of communication and coordination, not that anyone had had much time to sit back and enjoy it)_.

 

So the plan went perfectly.

And when Moriarty took his last, Lazarus took over.

Sherlock had switched into reaction mode. All thoughts and actions strictly limited to reactions to his environment, giving him quicker reflexes, an impressive flexibility in his choice of options, and the ability to evaluate his own situation with precision in an instant. It made him a formidable player.

He had adopted this attitude every time he had worked missions for MI6, and it was the reason they were so thrilled to have him abroad for a full year. Of course, he would officially be under orders from Mycroft only.

Nevertheless, many a hand had slipped into the file being assembled for him, adding a name for him to take down or dig up, a message to transfer, and even a well-intentioned but perplexing warning that the safe house in Bamako was out of toilet paper.

 

So, the plan, yes.

It went perfectly well.

Molly performed her part with an ease that surprised everyone and herself.

John's reaction rendered Sherlock utterly useless for a solid 3 minutes (anticipated in advance by Mycroft, who had adjusted the schedule accordingly), and a doctor disguised as a plumber made sure Mrs Hudson's heart would have help, should it decide to give in upon hearing the news.

 

Soon, Sherlock was leaving his dead self in the morgue and catching a ride with corpse-delivery-guy (who didn't seem more thrilled at having a living passenger than he had at having a dead one).

 

When he arrived, Mycroft was already waiting for him, and together they finalized the details of the mission destined to take down Moriarty's organisation.

On Molly Hooper's coffee table.

 

She was shocked when she arrived home that night. The Holmes brothers were supposed to be there, but she had imagined that they would be sleeping by then, or at least relaxing.

Enjoying their last night together, and for Sherlock, his last night in England (until his return of course).

But they were still there, planning, speaking of passports and breaches and previous reports, with so many code names in their sentences that she could barely keep up.

Mycroft's voice was even, a bit faster-paced than usual, and he spoke without his typical sighs and head gestures.

Sherlock was listening attentively, and Molly was hit by how very grave and formal it all was.

 

They were no longer brothers.

It was no longer about Mycroft and Sherlock, but rather, it was between Mr Holmes, his agent, and a job to be done.

After a grave farewell and sincere thanks, Molly went to bed.

 

Sherlock's bag propped up against the bottom of the couch.

He had shorter hair now, with brown contact lenses with glasses and a dark green T-shirt and he looked so unlike himself and so very young that Mycroft felt his own gaze attempting to flee the sight. He wordlessly took his younger brother's wrist and stuck a tracker under the quadrant of his watch.

And then they got up and Mycroft put a hand on his shoulder and Sherlock gave him a soft smile and they both said a rude expression, not worth copying here, as was their custom every time one of them left for something dangerous and their mother wasn't there to hear.

 

And then everything was ready and Sherlock took a cab at 4:30 in the morning, on November 21st, and embarked on a flight to Kuala Lumpur.


	2. During (but at the very beginning)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! So this part is quite heavy with details, but the rest will not be so (I am aiming for mostly emails and texts for the rest of the infiltration operation, at least until Serbia).  
> Hope you enjoy!

November 27th

-

From: matthewgreene@gmail.com

To: scott.wilson25@hotmail.com

Object: Address

 

Hi Scott,

Hope you're doing good. Just wanted to make sure you have aunt Felicia's new address; 836 Bagan Jermal Rd.

I bet she can't wait to see you... knowing her, she'll want to tell all the neighbours that you're coming to visit!

 

Don't forget sunscreen,

 

Matthew

-

 

Sherlock sighed and read the message a second time.

News, finally. He had been in Malaysia for six days already.

Upon arriving at Kuala Lumpur, he had taken a bus Southwest to Port Klang, the main transit point to the sea.

The criminal activity there had been monitored and documented by one of MI6's best investigation agent. Farah Q.'s report was thorough and included solid evidence of connections to Moriarty's network, and it was decided that it would be the starting point of the dismantling operation. Sherlock was to join her in Port Klang, and design with her an infiltration strategy.

During the thirteen-hours flight, he had elaborated a couple of possible avenues, based on the info Mycroft had provided, but he truly needed Farah's expertise to continue.

 

Farah was not there.

When he arrived, he discovered that the safe house had been busted. Probably just a couple of days prior, because the milk in the mini-fridge was still good, but there were no messages and no one from MI6 (no one at all, actually, except the clear traces of a police visit).

Farah was not supposed to be living there anymore, but Sherlock _had_ planned to use one of the beds.

He ended up meeting a family owning a street restaurant, and they had kindly offered a spare back room used to stock equipment during the low season.

As a rent, he washed dishes and did translation work, for upon realizing that Sherlock spoke English, Mr Tengku had endeavoured to properly translate his menu display as well as create a webpage, and many neighbouring businesses had followed the idea.

Thus, he had had the chance to adjust to the city and it was with an eagerness to start working that he had made his way to the meeting point.

Farah never came.

He had waited 10 hours for her before returning to his small cot on Jalan Sungai Aur. After that, he had picked up the habit to check the meeting point and the safe house for signs of her every day, but was still without news.

Her silence had made him anxious and restless, and it was with no little discomfort that he had reminded himself how normal all of that was.

First contact rendez-vous with agents already on the field were often complicated, and happened as planned one time out of two. That's why they always had "next bus" meetings. One week after, different time, different location.

And if that doesn't work, then you check the refuge point, and if you still can't find them, you contact England and usually they'll put your mission on hold and ask you to track them down, and so it's back to their last location to search for clues or messages.

Sherlock knew that.

He had done it many times himself. His second mission, in fact, got cancelled as he was sent to track down a missing agent instead. It was all part of the work, and yet this time it felt different.

For the first time, he had something to run back to. A home, a friend, a life.

The missions used to be distractions, keeping his mind busy, meeting people who could think, proving himself to Mycroft. But this mission was personal, and he had no choice but to finish it completely before he could return home.

Perhaps that was why Farah's absence had affected him as much. Maybe it had simply been too long since his last operation abroad. Either way, he had recovered his calm and focus, and had found himself awaiting the news with a bit more patience.

And the news did arrive.

As he memorized the address on Mycroft's email, he searched through his mind palace for the meaning of the sunscreen code. A singsong voice pulled him from his thoughts.

\- Hei awak, kerja!

He gave an apologetic smile to Mr Tengku, who had poked his head through the kitchen's service door, and turned to resume his washing. As he did so he hit his head on the ceiling light (for the tenth time that day), and suddenly remembered the translation of the code phrase.

Farah was injured. Analysing the rest of the message with this new information, Sherlock understood that her location might not be safe, and that she feared she was being watched.

 

 

-

_From: *blocked number*_

Got the address. Should I bring a doctor or medical supplies? S.

-

_From: (020) 495 - 0772_

No need; her backup got them enough to hold on for two days, then we're extracting both of them to be treated in London.

Make the most of the time you'll have with her, then go ahead quick. You have 2 weeks: F and A will hit sooner than planned so I had to change the transit plan.

Flights with Thai Air. Int. Nov. 13th under _Ganem_ passport: 777 Bangkok 13:05. A330 Islamabad 18:45.

-

 

Sherlock deleted all the texts and settled into what would be the last night in his current room.

He thought about how he would miss this place, Mr Tengku and his expansion ideas, the familiar smell of assam laksa drifting through the curtain divider in the late morning.

He missed Baker Street. Being able to think out loud, playing violin, putting messages to decode on the far wall.

... Decoding! He had memorized Farah's new address, but had forgotten to decode it. It was quickly done, and he made sure to memorize it properly this time.

But the mistake was unsettling. It wasn't like him. The two-weeks deadline haunted his thoughts for a while, and he went to sleep thinking, for the first time in his life, that Mycroft was overestimating him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story has me checking flights on expedia and salivating over Malay cuisine!
> 
> Hope you enjoyed and as always, feel free to point out any mistakes, or things that you liked!  
> I know in this Sherlock isn't in 100% top shape, but I have some BAMF moments on the way.
> 
> Next chapter will be a mini-snippet at what's going on on Mycroft's end, and maybe a tiny flashback to Sherlock's first MI6 missions :)

**Author's Note:**

> I hope this made as much sense to you as it did in my head :')
> 
> I have other chapters coming up!


End file.
